


Worse Ways to Go

by Tish



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Buried Alive, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort - desperate CPR/kiss of life to resuscitate love interest, M/M, Pining - pining character reveals their feelings while not quite lucid (hurt/drunk/etc.), Rescue Missions, Touch-Starved Character Having Overwhelming Tender Long Foreplay First Time Sex, Touch-Starved Stoic Character Falling Apart Under Someone's Touch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 07:41:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23967808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tish/pseuds/Tish
Summary: Illya's trapped. Napoleon's on a rescue mission.
Relationships: Illya Kuryakin/Napoleon Solo
Comments: 4
Kudos: 77
Collections: Id Pro Quo 2020





	Worse Ways to Go

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AMintJulep](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AMintJulep/gifts).



He woke to a feeling of smothering -- an overwhelming sensation of drowning in dry air, of choking on his dry tongue, aware of a growing heat surrounding him.

Illya opened his eyes to the blindness of darkness, tentatively putting out a hand to feel the way. A clinking of chains and the thud of wood in front of him filled a piece of the puzzle. He knew he was shackled, and on his back in some sort of wooden crate. A slight taste of dried dirt infiltrated his mouth and nostrils as he felt along the wooden slats, and he blinked as dust fell into his eyes.

A growing sense of dread filled Illya as he connected each part of the information available to him.

_Underground. I'm buried underground!_

Flashes of memory resurfaced in his mind, battling for his attention as the logical part of his mind tried to calculate how deep he could be, and more importantly, how much oxygen he had left.

_Napoleon!_

The mission had gone off the rails, and he and Napoleon were racing to escape the Thrush mooks on their tail. There was gunfire, deafening flashes, and blinding smoke. All through it, Napoleon was by his side, urging him on. Illya set his focus on that voice, on the urgency, and devotion as he called to Illya.

The memory calmed Illya as he gingerly felt along his body, feeling for his communicator, or any weapon or tool the mooks had carelessly left on him. The chains tightened with a doom-filled clank, cutting short his explorations.

Taking stock and visualising his situation, Illya judged the chains connecting his wrists to his ankles to be secured from the top of the crate above his waist, and he raised his legs as much as he could, folding them to brace against the ceiling of the crate. Gathering the chain taut, he heaved as hard as he could, then two more times until there was a pop and something hard slammed into his stomach, followed by the stinging slap of the suddenly loose chain.

Lying back and trying not to breathe too hard, Illya gasped for air, slowly becoming aware of a soft hissing sound.

_A nest of snakes? Down here?_ Illya silently asked himself as the hissing continued.

He put up his hand slowly, gradually feeling the soil gently pouring down the hole in the crate that he'd evidently made when he tore off the chain loop. A shiver of fear that he couldn't suppress ran down his spine. How much damage had he caused to the crate, and would it withstand the weight of soil above? He had a brief vision of slowly drowning in dirt inside the crate, before he shook it away, mind racing to plan his escape.

_Napoleon! Surely Napoleon would find him? Napoleon had escaped in all the chaos, hadn't he? Napoleon always found a way out, and always found a way back to find him, hadn't he?_

Illya remembered the sound of Napoleon's voice, the last time he'd rescued him. The urgency and tension as he called Illya's name dissipating as soon as he saw Illya's face. The smile suddenly growing upon his face. Illya focussed on Napoleon's smile. He knew how the small lines around Napoleon's eyes would crinkle up with joy and relief when he found him. Illya remembered each time Napoleon smiled at him, and found himself remembering how loved that made him feel. He recalled the intensity of his furtive glances, their shared looks between them, and his lingering stares directed at Napoleon, slowly recognising the passion that lingered below his own calm demeanour. Illya recalled the times that Napoleon would touch him – a signal tap on the shoulder or a seemingly random stroke of his lapel – and remembered the craving he had always felt for more, for an arm wrapped around his body, for fingers to slide through his hair, for a hand upon his chest and slipping down his body.

Illya felt his breath warm in the air, felt his head spin. He had a sense of wanting to close his eyes, just for a moment, just for a little while...

The mission was a success, Napoleon told himself for the hundredth time as he staggered through the forest. He'd, no, _they'd_ saved thousands of lives, he and Illya. Napoleon heard Mr. Waverly's voice in his head: Agents are expendable, innocent civilians are not.

Napoleon knew that, and accepted it in theory, but in his bones he couldn't shake off the feeling that he had to try and find Illya, even if it turned out to be a recovery and not a rescue mission.

Settling in under cover, Napoleon pulled out his communicator and hoped that Sharon and the U.N.C.L.E. technical crew could pull off a miracle.

_Illya?_

It's Napoleon. Napoleon should kiss me. Yes.

_Illya!_

There's that voice, he's smiling, I know it.

_Wake up, Illya! Breathe!_

I am awake, I can see you just fine from above you. Us. Yes, touch my face, I like that. Ha, why can I see myself lying down there? Oh, you're kissing me now?

“Illya!” Napoleon panted as he worked away, fingers desperately searching for a pulse. He wanted to grasp Illya's neck and draw him in for a proper kiss, not this clinical exchange of air.

Napoleon leaned in and placed his mouth over Illya's lips, waiting and counting. Help was coming, but it would be here too late. He was all Illya had right now, and the thought terrified him, but spurred him on, nonetheless.

He opened one of Illya's eyes, desperate for the glassy stare to focus into its usual brilliant blue clarity. Napoleon remembered each time he'd catch Illya just staring at him, mostly to listen to him, but just randomly, too. Napoleon remembered how he'd say _anything_ just to have Illya look at him, even if it was just to roll his eyes at a terrible joke he'd made. Napoleon would give anything for Illya to look back at him now, to see those sapphire eyes, bright and full of life.

Illya's vision blurred, going from white to black, as sensation returned to him. He felt heavy inside his body and felt momentarily confused as he regained his senses. He felt Napoleon's mouth upon his, and the confusing puff of air, rather than the passionate kiss he expected.

“No,” he tried to say, but all that came out was a mumble. He opened his eyes and lifted a heavy arm, gently connecting with the back of Napoleon's neck as he went in again.

Napoleon's cry of surprise was heavily muffled by Illya's kiss of desire, one clumsy hand forcing Napoleon's head closer.

_What the hell?_ Napoleon thought with surprise, before deciding, what the hell, go for it!

Napoleon let his fingers glide through Illya's hair, laid out behind him like a fan. He let Illya drink the kisses from his lips, as Illya moved a shaky hand over Napoleon's chest, inching a finger or two inside his shirt.

“Napoleon,” Illya started, voice like sand.

“Illya, I'm here,” Napoleon replied, his other hand tenderly stroking Illya's cheek.

Illya writhed under his touch, back arching sensuously. “Will you do that again? I don't know if this is real yet?”

“It's real, I promise. You're alive,” Napoleon urged as he gently ran his thumb along Illya's cheekbone.

Illya trembled as he breathed out, “yes!”

Napoleon watched Illya's face for a moment, the transformation from near-death to near ecstasy burning inside his mind. “May I kiss you again, Illya?”

Illya's breath was ragged as he nodded and struggled to speak, his hand returning to exploring Napoleon's chest under his shirt.

Napoleon let his mouth settle over Illya's again, drawing out the kiss and letting his tongue linger over Illya's. His fingers crept slowly down Illya's neck, tracing over his Adam's Apple and down to his shoulder, just under his dirt-ridden shirt. A moan rose from Illya's throat as Napoleon's traced a circle over the muscle, followed by a kiss there. Gazing into Illya's eyes, Napoleon slowly unbuttoned Illya's shirt, pausing to kiss each new naked section of skin.

The sounds coming from Illya's throat changed pitch and he moved sinuously under Napoleon's touch. Illya's stare was intense as he struggled for words. “Keep going. Please,” he begged.

Napoleon's movements seemed to crawl in slow motion, each kiss was agonisingly slow, and eternally long. Illya's flesh prickled with every touch, nerves stretching taut under Napoleon's fingers.

Pin-pricks and electric sparks ran through Illya's body, cascading as the cold air settled over his increasingly naked body. Warmth welled up inside him as Napoleon loitered over his crotch, hands teasing as they slowly undid Illya's trousers. Napoleon's breath was hot on his skin as he pulled down Illya's boxers. He paused, one of his trademark grins forming on his face.

Illya was very much aware of his growing erection, so close to Napoleon's delighted smile. He dared to catch Napoleon's eye, and was rewarded with those sparkling, dark pools looking back at him.

“I was going going to say something ridiculous and silly, but I think you're a little too preoccupied to roll your eyes at me. How about I do a little something with this,” Napoleon hovered his mouth over Illya's prick as he spoke, infuriatingly close.

Illya writhed again, struggling with each word, “just...please.”

With a slight nod, Napoleon took Illya into his mouth, his smile enveloping Illya's cock with a surprising gentleness, tongue working slowly down the shaft, while his fingers slid around the base. Illya felt himself levitating, despite feeling the solid ground against his back. He held his breath as he stared at Napoleon's lips softly pump up and down around the head of his prick, never sinking too far down. Part of him wanted Napoleon to swallow him whole, but he slowly grew aware of Napoleon's fingers dancing around his balls and the base of his shaft, and he let his mind enjoy that, instead.

Every so often, Napoleon would look up at Illya, and Illya would lock eyes as best as he could, through the fog of his mind as it struggled to take in everything that was happening. He reached out with a shaky hand and brushed some of Napoleon's hair from his forehead as he bobbed up and down. He desperately lusted for Napoleon to be inside him and to simultaneously be inside Napoleon, riding each other to oblivion.

“I never knew I wanted this,” Illya wanted to say, but all that he could say was a low, wordless groan.

Napoleon's gaze was fixed on his as Illya came, Napoleon's mouth open and waiting to drink him in. Illya watched, awe-struck as Napoleon lay there beside him, mouth now fully taking his cock in, sucking and licking along the whole length as it slowly faltered, fully spent.

Illya wanted to swallow Napoleon in turn, wanted to know what Napoleon tasted like, to feel him move inside his mouth, but he was exhausted, barely able to move as it was.

Napoleon had now crawled back to face Illya, watching his face with delight. “You look so much better now. I should give you head more often.”

“I want to sleep, but I don't. I want to look at you,” Illya slurred.

Napoleon let a teasing note creep into his voice. “You're always looking at me, don't think I haven't noticed.”

“You do things to make me look at you,” Illya feebly protested.

“Oh, I do, do I?” Napoleon quietly replied.

“Yes, you exist.” Illya felt that was somehow logical enough, and he closed his eyes.

“Fair enough. Hey, you're not going away on me again, are you?” Napoleon leaned in closer. “Is this a ploy to make me kiss you again?”

“Yes,” mumbled Illya, his eyes fluttering open a little.

“Once again, fair enough,” Napoleon said, this time from a little further away.

Intrigued, Illya opened his eyes and struggled to move his head. He suddenly gasped as Napoleon took his already over-stimulated cock in his mouth again.

From somewhere in the back of his shorted-out, bliss-filled mind, Illya wondered if Napoleon would finish what the mooks had started and accidentally kill him.

_There are worse ways to go_ , he thought to himself as every fibre of his body exploded anew with lust.


End file.
